High bid for Sanity

Lord Sednia adjusted the cuff of his blue velvet jacket with a precise measured movement. He straightened his collar and began to do the same to his mind. Calming, the frantic buzz in his head was not easy, however masking that internal chaos was, for now. The Great Auction Hall, the largest and most decadent room in the Market Tower, was a shrine to Commerce where one worshiped in cash and tithed in exploitation. Sunlight filtered through enchanted stained glass, mandalic patterns dancing in mesmerizing rhythms cast shimmering pools of brilliant color across the white marble floor, flecks of quartz add glitter to scintillating light play. The vaulted ceiling rose high above the nobles gathered in their custom-tailored chairs. Ribbed vaults and intricately carved-arches added geometry and optical illusion to the beautiful and disorienting hall.

I never thought such a large, colorful space could feel so oppressive.

The crowd itself defined a spectacle. A statement of the reach and influence of the Market Tower, more nobles and elites attended these auctions just to be seen there than to participate. Merchants from the western deserts in silks the color of cream and deep crimson, their faces veiled in defiance of local custom more so than for the sake of their own tradition. Wealthy Chiefs of the mountain clans sported finely tailored wool and fur, their silver-embroidered emblems stark against the subdued earth tones. Each chief's outfit is respectfully stylized to resemble the animal its fur had been sourced from. Closer to the stage, the elite of Reverie were adorned with flowing robes of iridescent spider-silk and jackets woven with threads of pure gold. Various other aristocrats and oligarchs filled the room, their ostentatious attire preceding their character and outweighing their function.

Terris played a visiting nobleman from Revenya, a persona he crafted with meticulous care. He had a simple mission: to obtain the obsidian stone on auction tonight. The disguise served two purposes: to gain access to their exclusive event and to keep anyone from knowing Terris was the one who possessed this object. It was a powerful magic artifact of unknown origin or function, the kind of object to be under lock and key. Not something to be disrespected as a status symbol. If anyone other than the mysterious Lord Sednia discovered the truth about the trinket and its connection to the Daughter of Chaos, they were holding their tongue appropriately. Terris thought this item might benefit his condition but more importantly (or so he told himself), he had to ensure it didn’t fall into the hands of those who would misuse its power.

The item was brought onto the stage, the moment they began unwrapping it Terris’s plans, his composure, and even his sense of self began to fray.The auras of the other attendees, once so clear and distinct, started to bleed into one another. A smear of discordant colors, contrasting the beautifully planned light display from the windows. He closed his eyes for a moment, and instead of darkness, he saw an unraveling, expanding fractal of shifting eyes and grinning teeth.

He sighs audibly but no one seems to notice. It's already begun.

The auctioneer announced, his voice filling the space through some kind of magical amplification, “This auction is for an obsidian shard of undetermined magic. The buyer accepts all risks. This auction will only accept mana units as payment.” That last bit caused a stir among the crowd.

Mana units have a value directly tied to common currency and are regularly used for small transactions among more impoverished people, far removed from the current company. However it is dangerous to carry a greater amount of mana units on your person than your own magic contains. This odd request may be nothing more than an attempt to garner deeper interest in the object.

“The bidding will start at 10,000 units.”

His hand, as Lord Terrence, calmly raised his bidding paddle. But to Terris, his hand felt alien, as if he were watching it from a far. The words and numbers on the auction catalogue in front of him flickered and danced, rearranging themselves into nonsensical equations and cruel limericks poking particular fun at his blue coat he admired. He saw a man to his left, bidding with a string of candied violets. No, that was a man with violets in his hair, a man with teeth made of glass, a man laughing in silence while another man, dressed in a peacock feather suit, cried tears of blood. The rest of the room turned dark around them. The two men under a spotlight continued their silent laugh and cry. It began to rain, but the disgustingly warm rain drops splattering on the pitch black ground made a sound like a duck. Thousands of tiny duck quacks, the two nobles trapped in their comedy and tragedy routine and the warm rain became a disturbing distraction for a brief moment until Terris was able to refocus himself and return to his slipping grasp on reality.

The bidding climbed, and with each raise, a new thread of Terris’s sanity was cut. His mind felt like an intricate tapestry, and someone had taken to making rags of it. He could feel it, the clean, sharp cuts interspaced between long uneven tears.

“Fifty thousand! Going once!” the auctioneer bellowed.

A dry, mirthless chuckle escaped him. Lord Terrence would not break, but Terris was already well past that point. He would not surrender. This was a test of will, and Terris would continue to be a master of his own.

“Sixty thousand!” he called out, the words tasting like static on his tongue. He had no idea if he said the right number. All he could see was the obsidian stone, pulsing with a faint, malevolent light.

As the bidding escalated and the stress of the citation increased, Terris became less of a noble man and more of a puppet. His mind too focused on maintaining his composure and sanity, he loses control of the spell disguising his face. The shock of the spell failing is enough to wrangle Terris a moment of clarity. A moment in which he hears “That's Terris Sedonia.”

As sure as Terris was that most people in this crowd would have no idea of his reputation, he was just as sure there would be one that recognizes him. The whispers spread through the crowd, rumors and reputation close behind. The guards moved to arrest the uninvited guest.

The man in the peacock suit whispers, “If Terris Sedonia is after this object it must be something of great power or value.”

The guards close in and Terris makes a run for it. But the auctioneer merely tapped his gavel. “A bid has been made, whether a gentleman stands on the floor or is running from the law! The auction is legally bound to continue! Arrest him if you must but he stays until the bidding is finalized.”

Terris ducked under a velvet rope, raising his paddle over his head. “Seventy-five thousand!” A guard lunged for him, but Terris sidestepped, letting the guard tackle an elderly man in an ermine coat. “Eighty thousand!” the old man called out as he worked to get disentangled, a twinkle in his eye, clearly enjoying the chaos. The guards, however, were not playing. They were closing in.

Terris vaulted over a chaise lounge, the bidding paddle still clutched in his hand. “Eighty-five!” he shouted, landing with a practiced, agile crouch that no nobleman would ever make. The guards followed, their heavy boots thudding on the polished floor. One of them, a man with a handlebar mustache, slid on a discarded teacup. He windmilled his arms dramatically before crashing headfirst into a display case full of intricate porcelain figures, the delicate clatter of their collapse a temporary score to the absurdity.

The auctioneer remained stoic “One hundred thousand! One hundred and ten thousand!” he rattled off, a blur of motion as he tracked the bids from the chaotic floor. The spectacle drew in new bidders, intrigued by the sheer absurdity. Perhaps someone's plan all along. The crowd parted, forming a clear, roped-off racetrack for Terris, who was now being pursued by a third, even larger guard, a man built like a small to medium sized mountain with a grim determination on his face, like a glacier reaching for the sea. A wiry merchant in flamboyant robes seemed to be taking bets. Terris noted an anthropomorphic rodent brass quartet playing a fast-paced jaunty tune on the far side of the room and gave up trying to discern what constituted madness or not.

Several more laps were made, with a sharply dressed young lady in a white and black checkered dress waving a handkerchief every time Terris passed. They were making a huge mess of the once dignified auction hall. Aside from a few shocked faces, most of the nobles seemed to be enjoying the impromptu entertainment. Terris wondered how much this would add to his notoriety.

Terris, now sliding across a slick patch of floor on his knees, narrowly dodged the brute's grasp. He needed to end this. The hum in his mind evolved to a shriek. As the final guard cornered him against a wall, Terris spotted a dessert cart, laden with half-eaten pastries and a single, glistening lemon tart. With his last shred of focus, he threw himself to the side, kicking the cart with his free foot. The cart went careening, crashing directly into the massive guard. The brute went down in a shower of flaky crust and whipped cream, his face a bewildered mask of custard and cream.

the guard’s hand grasped futilely at empty air. Terris, now standing on a gilded chair, raised his bidding paddle one last time. “One hundred and fifty thousand!” he screamed.

The hammer came down with a final, echoing thud. The auctioneer’s voice cut through the room with a definitive finality. “Sold! To Terris Sedonia! A new record for an unidentified trinket!” The crowd burst into applause and cheers. Except one man who lost his bet.

Silence was cast when a single clap echoed from a diminutive balcony. The guards stopped in their tracks, acknowledging the concealed figure above. The one who almost caught him, a massive man with a face like a bulldog, just stared at him with baffled fury, a dollop of lemon curd still dripping from his eyebrow.

“You’d think for that price you’d get better security,” Terris said, winking at the confused guard before straightening his jacket.

One of the attendants wraps the obsidian shard up. They hand it to Terris and motion for him to follow.

The world snapped back into focus. The gilded walls, the quiet whispers, the stone now resting in his hands—it was cold and heavy. The humming was gone, but the echo of it remained in the hollow spaces of his thoughts. He won. He prevented it from falling into the wrong hands. But as his fingers tightened around the stone, chilling thoughts took root. Were his hands the right ones? Or had he just bought his way into a permanent head trip? The price of the artifact wasn't mana, it was a tightening of Delirium's grip.